


Lay Low

by slartibartfast



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie(s), Psychological Trauma, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slartibartfast/pseuds/slartibartfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a tough few weeks for Clint Barton. There's a few good reasons why the others shouldn't trust him, so he comes up with a plan.</p><p>(AKA Clint attempts to bond with his fellow Avengers by not having sex with them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Low

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sternel and RedheadScientist for reading through my fic and making me feel confident enough to post it after many, many months of fandom silence.
> 
> This was originally going to be crack but ended up much more serious than I'd imagined.

"So I've got an important assignment," Clint said, slumped against the wall to recover from another severe beating. Natasha sat beside him looking rather more composed which just wasn't _fair_ , he was _bigger_ than her. Slightly. She nodded to show she was listening but didn't look up from unwrapping the bandages around her hands. "Fury handed it over in person."

"He's not giving out assignments right now," Natasha said. "Lie low, remember?"

"That's the assignment." With a grunt of effort, Clint leaned forward to kick off his shoes. He wiggled his foot. Thankfully that particularly vicious ankle-twist didn't seem to have done any lasting damage. "You should come with a warning label, Tasha. Remind me why I continue to spar with you despite knowing how it _always_ ends?"

Natasha shrugged and dropped the bandages. "Brain damage. What's the assignment, Barton?"

"I have to seduce the rest of the team," Clint replied. He sat back and gave up on any further attempt at movement until the ringing in his ears subsided. "I think you're exempt. He probably knows about Belarus. What? You don't think I can do it?"

"That's not the point," Natasha replied. The amusement stayed in her eyes after the grin faded. "Fury didn't give you that assignment."

"Well, not _exactly_ ," Clint said, tipping his head. "He said to facilitate bonding within the group to avoid it splintering before the next big alien invasion or whatever decides to swallow the Earth whole next."

Natasha stood up with a shake of her head. Clint scowled; how could she look so composed after a fight that had left him basically immobile? If she didn't look so relaxed for the first time in a month, Clint would be far more annoyed. 

"And you heard that as 'fuck them all'," Natasha said.

"Obviously," Clint replied. "Seriously. No sane person could resist the chance to grab Thor's hammer."

"You're disgusting," she said. With her laughter, it sounded like a compliment. Clint knew she thought it was a joke. She didn't think Clint would do it. 

Maybe Natasha didn't know him as well as she thought he did.

\---

The lab was quiet with the usual low hum of energy being the only sound. Clint stepped in as silently as was possible, slipping the door shut. Then, halfway across the room, he remembered that this was _not_ a guy you wanted to sneak up on three weeks after a major traumatic event. Clint cleared his throat and Bruce looked up from his fancy microscope.

This wouldn't be much of a stretch, Clint thought. Bruce looked adorable with his hair sticking up all over the place and his eyes wide. His shirt was a little tight; Tony's, perhaps? It wouldn't surprise Clint if something was going on there. In the harsh neon lights, Bruce looked paler than he should.

Clint perched on the edge of a nearby counter and crossed his arms, furrowing his brow. "When's the last time you left this room?"

"Three days ago," Bruce said with a vaguely apologetic shrug. "There's a cot in the corner."

Useful. Clint glanced over at it appraisingly but it didn't ease his frown. "You haven't slept in that."

"...No."

"Have you eaten?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I just," Bruce said, leaning back in his chair as he tried to find the words. "Don't tell me you're finding it any easier to sleep than I am."

Clint shrugged, forcing himself not to look away. It was normal. Okay, staying awake for so long that an ex-Russian spy had taken to slipping sleeping pills in your meals wasn't _quite_ normal, but Clint couldn't be sure that he'd find Loki still gone when he opened his eyes. He shook his head to free the thought and pushed himself up to his feet. "There are ways to get around that."

"No, no thank you. I don't want any of Natasha's pills," Bruce said with the cutest half-smile that Clint almost didn't notice for the surge of annoyance. So they all knew Clint needed the pills to sleep now? Great, just great. 

Annoyance, as ever, made him blunt. "I was talking about the soporific effects of really fantastic orgasms, actually."

Bruce's mouth opened, then closed a few seconds later. Clint took a _lot_ of satisfaction in the fact he'd made the Hulk blush, however faintly. After a moment of dull silence, Bruce carefully pulled the slide out from the microscope and slipped it into a small case. He turned a dial and leaned back in his chair, eyeing Clint warily. 

"What?" Clint asked before Bruce could dismiss him. "You have tried jerking off, right? It doesn't bring out the other guy in you? Though jerking off doesn't usually land under 'really fantastic' in the orgasm scale, so..."

"I've been busy," Bruce said. Past tense. Clint was in. Something must have lit up in Clint's eyes because Bruce grinned, genuinely amused. "Are you seriously attempting to get me to have sex with you to help me sleep, Hawkeye? Because that sounds..."

"Awesome?" Clint suggested.

"I was gonna go with idiotic."

"You wound me," Clint said, sounding as though the opposite was true. There was a table between them, cluttered with expensive-looking scientific equipment. It only took a second to realise swiping away all of that in some dramatic gesture would probably result in an explosion and in a world full of superheroes you really didn't want to mess about in labs like this. Instead, Clint walked around it and rested his hands on the arms of Bruce's chair, leaning just a little too close. Bruce, to Clint's satisfaction, did not lean away. "Hey, I'll back off if you want me to. I don't think you do."

Bruce was frowning. Why was he frowning? "You're an interesting guy, Barton."

"Is that a yes?" Clint asked, because that was important. Bruce shrugged; it wasn't enough and Clint made sure his expression said so. 

"No," Bruce said with an exasperated sigh. "It's a no. You're right, I should get some sleep. Thanks, Clint."

Bruce ushered Clint out of the room and locked the door behind him. Clint sighed; that was not the best start to his mission. 

\---

Out of all of them Tony Stark was going to be the easiest; Clint just knew it. He had a reputation that exceeded Clint's own. No need for anything special. The simple approach would probably be best.

Unfortunately for everyone, Clint hadn't factored in everything he should have.

"You realize, of course, what Pepper could do to your little _arrow_ if you try to grab my ass one more time, Hawkeye," Tony said, eyebrow quirked.

Clint's hand froze in mid-air. One run in with Pepper involving a spilt coffee and some very important documents had been enough. With a sigh of defeat, Clint dropped his hand back to his side. "You were supposed to be the easy one."

"Sorry buddy, you came a year or two too late." As Clint turned away, Tony's voice followed him, laced with its usual sarcasm. "Should I tell your girlfriend you were trying to get in my pants?"

"She's not my girlfriend, asshole."

This wasn't going quite as well as Clint had hoped. Frustration twisted through his blood and turned him cold. He slammed the door behind him and went straight for his bow and arrows.

\---

Target practice wasn't really a necessity for Clint. He got enough experience with real combat on a day-to-day basis; he didn't need to aim for some stupid little red dots. Still, SHIELD had provided him with an _excellent_ shooting range with a variety of platforms and vast distances to cross. 

It was much too easy. Honestly, he'd prefer to spar with Natasha. She was, however, away for three days; she hadn't said where and, true to their agreement, Clint hadn't asked.

A noise by the door below made Clint pause on his highest perch. He aimed the bow down, drawing it tight, tempted as ever though he knew the only intruder could be a friend. Or someone that would be considered such on the battlefield. When Fury stepped into sight, Clint wondered how long he would live if he put an arrow through Fury's good eye. A colder, darker part of his mind remembered what it felt like to shoot him and wondered what would be happening now if he'd aimed for Fury's face. Would Loki have won? Would Clint's eyes still be icy blue?

"When I said to try bonding with the others," Fury called up, "I didn't mean with your dick."

Clint slipped his arrow back into the quiver. "Can you think of a quicker way?" 

"Several. But I suspect none are quite your style," Agent Coulson piped in, stepping across to Fury's side. "You realise you're causing some contention among the team?"

"Already? I'm flattered." With the bow over his back, Clint swung down to the floor, landing neatly in front of them. He rolled his eyes and kept his stance loose and casual, however much he wanted to back away from this. "Don't look at me like that, Coulson."

"Like what, Hawkeye?" Coulson asked, calm and collected as ever though Clint could clearly see the slight hunch in his shoulders from the weight of his pain. 

"Like I've forgotten you," Clint said. As if that would be possible. Phil had been more than a handler before his death/rebirth; he had been a friend and, once or twice, a lot more than that. But right now the chill was still too tight around Clint's heart to risk it. "Hurry up and heal and I'll prove you're still my favorite." 

Fury was almost definitely yelling as Clint made his swift exit but the ringing in Clint's ears was nearly deafening and the chill through his bones was too deep. Clint could only think of a few ways to remedy that and, true to his nature, he stuck to the most reckless.

\---

As far as repressed virgins went, Steve Rogers was an impressive specimen. For the past hour Clint had been sitting beside him at Tony's bar getting more wasted and much more obvious in his attempts to hit on him. Steve seemed entirely cogent which was seriously unfair and completely illogical, at least right up until the point where Clint grabbed Steve's drink and swallowed a huge gulp.

"That's not alcohol!" Clint cried, scandalised. "That's _lemonade_."

"I don't drink alcohol," Steve said flatly. 

Clint snorted and slammed the glass down. "You could have mentioned that."

"I did," Steve pointed out. "Three times. You weren't listening. Are you okay, Clint?"

Stupid question. Clint ignored it and poured himself another drink since he'd already be suffering a hangover in the morning. Or was it morning already? Clint was having trouble keeping track. "I'm great. _Great_. Kinda... kinda drunk. You want me to suck you off? I'm really good at it."

To Clint's surprise, Steve didn't even blush. He looked steadily at Clint and shook his head. "I'm sure you are, Clint, but you need to go to bed now."

"Are you coming with me?"

"No," Steve said.

The ground swung out from beneath Clint and his arms snapped out to hold himself up. Turned out to be unnecessary; Steve had both his arms around Clint's torso and was carefully but firmly leading him from the room. It was very difficult to focus with the world spinning so obviously but Clint eventually realised during his struggle to keep his feet moving in the right order where Steve was leading him. "Wait, wait. You're taking me to bed."

"Yes."

"To have sex."

Steve sighed. It tickled Clint's hair. "No, to make sure you don't pass out in the hall."

"Fine. _Fine,_ " Clint said, attempting to push the wall of muscle away from him. It didn't go too well and Steve didn't even pause. "Just know that I am totally okay with you taking advantage of drunk me. If that's your problem here."

"I wouldn't do that," Steve said, "even if I weren't straight." 

"Oh," Clint replied quietly. He squinted up at Steve as he attempted to bundle Clint into the messy bed that Clint usually did his best to avoid. "You're sure?"

"One-hundred percent sure," Steve said, almost apologetically. He backed off. "You're a very attractive man, Clint, but I prefer them female and, most importantly, sober."

"You're a piece of work," Clint mumbled. He wasn't sure if he intended it to be an insult or not. It didn't matter much as Steve was already leaving.

"I'll check in on you in a few hours," Steve said and then pulled the door shut. "Or I'll send Natasha if you prefer."

Clint couldn't give an opinion. He'd already passed out.

\---

The morning - possibly afternoon - came bright and angry and full of the blazing eyes of Clint's best friend. 

"Stop this, Barton."

"Sleeping? Stop sleeping?" Clint asked, curling deeper under the blankets. Natasha simply jerked them off of him. "Weren't you drugging me before?"

"Drinking. Stop drinking. Stop trying to seduce our team mates," Natasha's voice was rising ominously, clanging like a bell through Clint's emerging headache. "I thought you were joking!"

"Jealous?" Clint asked, risking a few slow blinks in Natasha's direction. It wasn't easy to focus, so he stopped trying. "Jeez, there's no pleasing you. I'm just doing what I was told."

"I spoke to Fury," Natasha said. 

"Oh," Clint replied.

"So I know he didn't give you any order. Especially not this one. What is going on with you?" she snapped. "Are you trying to split up the team? Because this was a really dumb idea even for you."

"I don't know," Clint replied honestly. It was, after all, far too early in a hangover for self-reflection. Self-regurgitation, however, sounded quite a pleasant idea. He gritted his teeth and breathed hard for a few silent minutes, then tried again. "He did say I need to try and integrate myself in the team a little more. He made it sound like a threat."

"Fury makes _everything_ sound like a threat."

"If I leave," Clint said, then paused again to swallow the rock in his throat. "If I have to leave... Tasha, you'd stay."

"You don't have to leave." 

Clint laughed so hard he nearly had to make a run for the bathroom. Only sheer willpower stopped the swell in his throat. "For an observant woman you can be totally blind."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Natasha replied, quieter this time like maybe she did.

Of course she did. They all did. It was bloody-mindedness that made Natasha force Clint to say it out loud. He opened his mouth but the words wouldn't arrange themselves properly in his addled mind and fuck, what if there was still a trace of Loki somewhere back there? What if letting his guard down so fully by getting completely wasted let him back out again? He felt the blood drain out of his face and a sharp, cold pressure spread through his chest. "Go away, Tasha."

"If you think I'm going to let you -"

" _Please_."

The silence lingered. Clint couldn't relax until he heard the quietest click of the door closing.

\---

"Little hawk! You have come to woo me, perhaps?" Thor cried far too loudly as Clint opened the door. "Excellent! I had wondered if I was to be neglected in your most unusual hobby!"

At least _someone_ was enthusiastic about Clint's arrival. The rest of the room, which admittedly Clint had expected to be empty beside the God of Thunder, was full of scowling faces. Or something close to a scowl. Natasha looked vaguely nauseous and was making no attempt to hide it.

That could only be explained by a limited amount of scenarios; Clint quickly flicked through them in his mind. Either she was about to propose shooting Clint in the face to put him out of his misery (possibly the correct course of action), or she was openly worried about something. Neither, knowing Natasha, was particularly likely. 

Perhaps Thor had attempted to cook a meal again.

"What's going on?" Clint asked, glancing around the living room that had recently become their base. The Stark Tower was already rebuilt and had begun to be called the Avengers Tower since the _incident_ ; it was becoming home to some of them, too. Yet none of them looked at all relaxed. Tony was standing by the bar, arms crossed and back straight, none of his usual cocky stance. Bruce's glasses were in his hands and he stared down at them, turning them slowly. Thor was grinning, sure, but there was something dark in his eyes. Steve stood with shoulders back and hands curled into fists, looking strangely out of place in his battle-ready pose without his uniform or his shield. "Is this an intervention? Because really guys, Nat's been feeding me a lot of those pills but I'm not quite at the stage of needing -"

"Quiet, Barton." A new voice, familiar but long unheard, came from behind Clint. He turned and tried for a smile but Maria Hill's face was as implacable as ever. She stood with her chin tipped up and her arms crossed but Clint couldn't tell if she was pissed or happy to see him. Perhaps it was both. "Both Agent Coulson and Director Fury will be here soon."

"Awesome, we're having a party?"

"And until they do," Maria continued as if Clint hadn't spoken, "you'll attempt to explain your behaviour to you team mates."

"Or have you forgotten that's what we're supposed to be?" Tony asked lightly.

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Please, you're one to talk. You'll drop us the first hint that we're not of use to you any more."

"And that's what's bothering you, isn't it?" Tony asked, dropping his hands to his sides. He was wearing the ridiculous metal bracelets that came with the new model. Were they a permanent fixture or was Clint considered a threat now? Tony laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. "Dropping you. That's what you think we're going to do so you're making it easy for us."

"Don't pretend you understand human emotion, Stark, it's embarrassing for all of us," Clint snapped and took a step away from them all. As an unpleasant side-effect it brought him further into the room but as the alternative was going through Maria Hill, Clint chose the safer option. He didn't plan on losing any of his limbs in the immediate future. Spreading his arms, he focused on his only real ally here. "Natasha, what the hell is this?"

Natasha paused but didn't break the eye contact. "We're concerned." Her tone was flat, the only reassuring thing about any of this; Clint only got _really_ worried when she started showing emotion.

"Concerned for me or about me?"

"Clint..." Natasha started and then sat up a little straighter. "Oh. Jesus, you really are an idiot. Sometimes I forget that."

"Love you too, sweetheart," Clint muttered, looking away. 

The elevator doors opened and out stepped Agent Coulson and Director Fury, faces shadowed. Clint looked away before he could see the expression on Phil's face; the disappointment wasn't something he wanted to know up close.

"We don't think you're still infected," Phil Coulson said from beside Clint a second later. His hand rested on Clint's shoulder and his touch was the first to sink past the surface, sending warmth back into Clint's cold blood. Best of all, there wasn't even the slightest hint of disappointment in his soothing voice. When Clint opened his eyes, there was none in Phil's face either. "That's what's bothering you, isn't it?" 

"Infected with what?" Steve asked. Clint noticed absently that his fingers were loose now, no longer curled tight.

"Loki," Fury replied for them. Thor looked down, grin splintered. "Possessed would be a better word."

"Wait, let me get this straight," Banner said, standing up with his piercing gaze on Clint. "Hawkeye thinks that we think he's still being mind-controlled by the crazy demi-god - sorry, Thor - and his response is to try and sleep with us all? How is that logical?"

"He's also recovering from a severe head injury," Natasha pointed out. Her gaze was dark but Clint could see now that the frustration wasn't aimed at him. "I'm sorry, Clint, I should have realized."

"Tasha. Stop." It wasn't her fault, none of this was. And yet the room hung heavy with guilt and Clint felt it crawling under his skin. His fingers twitched, longing to feel his bow, to cling to something familiar. This wasn't going how he expected at all. "You have to admit it's a possibility, guys. I'm all for pretending we're suddenly a happy team, that's great," Clint looked at Fury, "but don't pretend you don't look at me wondering if Loki is still somewhere poking around in my head, sir."

"We know he's not," Fury said sharply.

"Or we wouldn't be letting you walk around unattended at such an important location," Phil added.

"We had you tested for a solid week before we gave you any clearance at all," Maria said.

Bruce nodded. "I've been running tests myself from the samples you gave me."

"And Jarvis would tell me if you showed any unusual behaviour," Tony said.

"I _know_ you," said Natasha with all her strength behind the conviction. 

"And I," said Thor, "know my brother. He no longer poses a threat to you, little hawk."

"Little hawk?" Tony stage-whispered.

"Well when you put it like that," Clint said, then swallowed the remnants of his voice. 

"So it's agreed," Phil said. He hadn't moved his hand once from Clint's shoulder and now he moved even closer in a stance that would be possessive in anyone less professional and anyone more than three weeks past a punctured lung. Clint made a note to thank Fury for keeping the best medical team in the world aboard the helicarrier. "Clint, from now on you don't try to... _liaise_ with your fellow team members. In return, we won't accuse you of attempting to fracture this admittedly tenuous group because of an alien god in your head."

"Okay," Clint managed after a couple of attempts.

Tony grinned and, with no respect for the sullen silence Clint wished to cultivate, raised his voice. "Okay, anyone want a drink now our little domestic is over? Right after I've scrubbed the mental image of what you and your handler obviously get up to outside of work hours, Clint."

"There are protocols about that, Agent Coulson," Maria said flatly. Clint didn't miss the twitch of a smile on her lips. 

Despite the discussion they'd had once in the dark bedroom at Phil's place, Clint was pleased that Phil didn't drop his hand. Nor did he sound ashamed. "There are protocols for an awful lot of situations."

"We take it on a case-by-case basis," Fury replied, but the hard look he gave them suggested he wouldn't be traumatizing himself by looking any further into it. Clint snorted as the Director swung his coat and made the quickest possible exit, Maria on his heel. With one lingering look, Phil lowered his hand and followed them.

One by one, the others left. Tony was last, drink in hand, tilting it in Clint's direction. "Has anyone told you you're kind of a drama queen, little hawk?"

"Don't call me that, tin man."

Tony laughed and patted Clint's back. Once he was gone, Clint closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The ice inside his veins had begun to melt at last and beneath it he found not Loki but something entirely unexpected.

\---

"I can't believe you tried to get Captain America drunk," Natasha said, locking the door to their new shared bunk. "As bad ideas go, that was high up there."

"It would have been something to write home about," Clint replied. He climbed the ladder to the bed near the top of the high-ceilinged room, the bed that Phil had installed for him. Clint had a lot to thank him for and could think of a few good ways to do so. Leaning over to peer at Natasha, Clint smiled. "You know, if I had a home."

"Clint," Natasha said quietly as she turned off the lights, "you _do_."

The room flooded with the pale light of the immense, half-destroyed building beneath them, a bastion of hope in a shattered city. As the last of the ice thawed inside him, Clint realized Natasha was right.


End file.
